


Pretty Hate Machine

by hellodestroya



Category: Avenged Sevenfold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellodestroya/pseuds/hellodestroya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He arms himself with a shit eating grin and a bottle of Jack, wearing it like a uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Hate Machine

He arms himself with a shit eating grin and a bottle of Jack, wearing it like a uniform. He shoots back the whiskey and you flinch every time, but he never does, never hesitates, never falters. He does it with the practiced precision of a sniper. Weapon of choice? A three ounce shot glass. You want to look away, but you can't. You aren't even drinking it and you can feel the burn as it coats your tongue and the subsequent rush as it hits the back of your throat. You wish you could say it wasn't always like this, but it was. The only difference is that before, before the War, he would come home and everything would be alright for a little while. There was an end in sight and you didn't feel like you were on the receiving end of enemy fire. Now, things have changed and you don't know what; but he never stops being a solider. In the beginning it looked okay, and you thought maybe, together, you would get out alive. You don't remember Alive, or even the beginning. It's been this way for so long that there is nothing else. You knew what you were in for when you started this and you convinced yourself it would be enough. That Together was all that mattered, that nothing in the world could change it. When there was glory to be had and love to be won, it didn't seem so hard to fight. But you were never the fighter and you became weary of the War long before he'd even really begun. You took it all in stride, because you knew this part of him, knew it wasn't all he was, knew there was more than Fight and Passion and Anger somewhere beneath that grin and those eyes that made the rest of the world go away. You would wait, when he wasn't ready to come home yet, when he had to keep going, to prove something to who the fuck knows who. You'd take all of him, even when you didn't know who he was anymore. Because in the beginning, he came home. He was battle weary and scarred and sometimes, he would sit in the dark and you couldn't even touch him, but even that was better than this. When the dust would settle and all you could see was the blood on his hands and the bodies of the enemy scattered on the ground, you felt some kind of relief.

The battle was over, even if the War wasn't, and you wondered even then if it ever would be. You know the answer now, and that hurts more than anything. In a sick way, when he looks at you with those eyes and you can see the exhaustion, the agony, the confusion written all over his face, you feel better. You feel better because at least then you know that you're allowed to hold him, allowed to whisper his name in his ear and tell him you love him, and know he isn't going to fight you off like a wounded animal. He used to come back to you and when he did, for a little while, things were better. You could protect him, make him forget the War that had consumed every fucking part of him and he could lay down arms and remember what being human felt like. But that was Before, and it isn't like that anymore. He brings the War home now, and even the battles he fights, the ones that used to come with short intervals of peace and sanity, seem to be longer, more brutal, and without reprieve. He has new weapons now - the pretty white to wake him up and the smooth blue to help him sleep. Sometimes, he doesn't sleep at all. He just lays awake, and you try to remember the times when he held you and the words you never thought you would have to commit to memory because in the beginning he said them all the time. I love you. Now, you don't know if he loves anything anymore. It's russian roulette everyday - and you don't even know if he realizes it. He is so stuck in his own head now that the only way out is the Fight, is War.

You don't even know what he is fighting for anymore and worse than that, last time you checked, neither side was winning. You want him back, but some part of you knows that if he comes back to you, if he takes off that uniform and turns back into who he was Before, you'd loose him. He needs you as much as you need him and in some fucked up way, that keeps you going. That makes it all fucking worth it. You try to remember before the War, and the memories are dark and convoluted like water as it mixes with black hair dye and floods down the drain. This has become everything, you and your solider. The shadows that touched his soul and consumed his heart have wrapped you in their safe warmth many times before and it's only a matter of time before you don't care anymore and you let the shadows take you to wherever he is. It's destroying you, they say. They try to remind you of Before, of what it felt like not to wait up for your warrior to come home. What is was like before Love became Fear and Sometimes became Always. You can't remember being anything but this, and if you have to go, this seems like a good way. If you have to walk through Hell with anyone, you'd rather it be him. Maybe if you let the shadows take you, you could understand. Go to that place where he always seems to go, that place you can't follow. The thought is vaguely terrifying but not as terrifying as lacking a part of yourself, of being without him. You've come to an understanding with yourself, with your heart. You'll love him until it kills you because who you were without him is a person you don't remember. You will always wait and try to save him when you can and when you can't, you'll pick up the pieces of whatever is left.

He will always be a solider. He will always fight the War that he rages against himself and you will always be there to remind him what he is fighting for. When he goes down - and you wonder if you will see it coming, in advance, the end - you'll go down with him. You hold onto the hope that he still loves you, somewhere, deep down. That what made this all worth is still lingers. Sometimes, he looks at you, and you see him again. Really see him. You live for those moments, so far and in between. You live for him, and he lives for War, with his pretty weapons and shit eating grin and in the end, there is nothing else. You watch him take another shot, and he does it with the practiced precision of a sniper. You toast to that because it's fucked up and it's agony and it's dark but it's something, and it's some kind of beautiful knowing you'll go down together. So you take a shot too, hand in hand, and tell him you love him and he says he knows.

 

 

 

 

The end of the War is perfect, like you hoped it would be. At the very last moment, you know he loved you the whole way through, and he can finally lay down his arms. The War is over, the Fight is gone, and the shadows can't touch him anymore. He smiles, like he used too, Before, and when he goes, you know he was free. He fought until the end ad when he couldn't fight anymore, he let go. And you hope, maybe you'll be able to let go too. He was your best friend, your protector, your soldier, your lover. He was everything and he never let the War win. Most of all, you loved him. Good and bad and light and dark and all the ugly beautiful parts you never got to see.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as Brian/Jimmy, but I think it can be applied to any pairing. Hope you liked it!


End file.
